


When I Was a Child

by Melanie_Athene



Series: To Err Is Human [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Fix-It, Humor, M/M, Post Season 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-27
Updated: 2011-09-27
Packaged: 2017-10-24 02:27:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/257880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melanie_Athene/pseuds/Melanie_Athene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Memories old and new.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When I Was a Child

Dean woke with a start as a clap of thunder sounded, torn from a vision of blood-slicked hands reaching out to him imploringly, a chorus of wailing voices transforming into the shriek of the wind and the relentless whisper of rain against the window.

 _A dream,_ he told himself. _It was just a dream. Or possibly a memory..._

He lay there for a few long moments, heart galloping in his breast, counting the seconds between lightning flashes and answering rumbles of thunder, until his heartbeat slowed to normal and the line between dream and reality was once again firmly re-established in his mind. Briefly, then, he considered rolling over and trying to go back to sleep, but the sour taste the dream had left in his mouth soon convinced him that would be a waste of time. The long hours until morning were not fated to be spent in slumber. Sighing, Dean reached out for the bed lamp's switch, only to discover that the room remained dark as a tomb when he toggled it back and forth. The familiar red glow of a clock radio on the nightstand was also absent. Clearly, the power was off, which meant the distraction of a little late night channel surfing was out of the question – nor was Sam's laptop an option as it was in his brother's room, and he had no desire to listen to him bitch and whine if he disturbed his rest.

“Damn,” Dean muttered, as he sat up and swung his feet to the floor.

Maybe raiding the fridge would prove entertaining. There might be a slice of pizza left over. At the very least, there should be a bottle or two of beer. It was certainly worth a try. Given enough alcohol, bed might even become tempting again.

Dressed only in a T-shirt and boxers, Dean opened his bedroom door and padded out into the common area.

Sporadic bursts of lightning lit his path to the refrigerator. A brief search revealed a distinct lack of pizza, but there were three bottles of beer left. Dean helped himself to two and turned to make his way over to the sofa. He was just about to sit down when a strobe of light lit up the silent room, revealing a man-shaped shadow standing at the window overlooking the lake.

Dean's heart tripped in time with a low growl of thunder.

Cas. He didn't need the confirmation a second wash of light offered as it spilled across the room. He'd know that silhouette anywhere, even without the usual added bulk of his trench coat. How small and vulnerable he looked now, clad simply in a loose-fitting T-shirt and a pair of boxers Dean recognized as being his own – which explained why he had not been able to find them in his duffle bag earlier that evening, after a long, hot soak in the jacuzzi had finally eased the chill out of his bones.

“You couldn't sleep either, huh?” he said softly, setting the beer bottles on the coffee table and crossing the room until they stood side by side, their shoulders lightly touching.

“No,” Castiel sighed. “I tried... but the storm kept me awake.”

A comfortable silence fell between them as they regarded nature's fury: the pelting rain which dimpled the surface of the lake, trees tossing restlessly as if in fear of the forks of lightning which split the sky, reverberations of booming thunder sending shivers down both men's spines.

“I used to love to fly on nights like this,” Castiel said quietly. “I would dart between the clouds, my wing beats echoing the thunder. I would capture lightning in my hands and redirect its path.”

“Cas...”

“It was a very long time ago. I was young and foolish then. The world was new.”

“Cas...”

“My brothers soon cured me of such nonsense. They turned me into a soldier. I knew my place. I always did what I was told to do...”

“Oh, G – ”

“No,” Castiel said fiercely, covering Dean's mouth with a firm hand. “Not like this. Not out of pity.”

Dean nodded and Castiel slowly drew his hand away.

To give them both a chance to regroup their thoughts, Dean walked back over to the sofa to retrieve the bottles of beer. Opening them both, he returned to the window and pressed one into Castiel's hand.

“You mojoed me into the lake tonight,” Dean said abruptly, when his beer was almost gone and he could no longer take the silence. “I saw you hold up your hand... and whammo! I was airborne.”

“Yes. I had built up a small reserve of Grace. It is depleted now.”

“So, the ghost and the water-spirit... they were attracted to your Grace? Does this mean every hunt we go on we're going to have to beat the crazies off you with a stick?”

“There is a distinct possibility that will be the case. Of course, we can avoid that by keeping me completely human.”

“Or we can make you stronger, so they won't stand a chance.”

“Yes... I suppose that would work as well.”

“Cas... what do you want?”

“That is the problem, Dean. I do not know. I only know what I do not want. I don't want to be a good little soldier. I don't want to be a burden on you and Sam. I don't want to be alone.”

“You won't be, Cas. I made a promise. Remember? We're here for you. I'm here for you. Trust in that, even if you trust in nothing else.”

“I trust you, Dean,” Castiel whispered.

“Give me your hand,” Dean gently requested and, without hesitation, Castiel placed his hand in Dean's open palm and their fingers tangled together. “It's late. Neither one of us is thinking clearly. We need to sleep... and for some reason we do that best when we're together. So... will you come to bed with me, Cas?”

“You wish to share your bed with me again? Even though three beds are available? Is this another form of pity?” Castiel's head titled to one side consideringly.

“It isn't pity, Cas.”

“What is it, then?”

“I don't know...” Dean said slowly. “I honestly don't know.”

 

~*~

 

The storm was now nothing more than a murmur in the distance, but Dean and Castiel were still awake, lost in a sharing of stories, curled on their sides facing one another in Dean's bed, their knees bumping and their eyes burning as they fought the yawns that threatened to overcome them. Both men were obviously well beyond weary, but neither was quite ready to give in to sleep.

“When I was ten, Dad disappeared for a week, leaving me alone with Sam,” Dean said. “It wasn't his fault. The wendigo he was hunting caught him instead. He managed to kill it, but he almost died in the process. It took him a full day to crawl back to the car and find himself a doctor. He was unconscious for five days. As soon as he woke up, he sneaked out of the hospital and headed back to us. We were up north in a cabin. No phone, no one around for miles. Our food ran out by the third day. I made a game of it with Sammy, took him fishing, picked berries... we even ate a god-awful dandelion salad I made. I didn't know you should only use young leaves because the flowers turn the old ones bitter. I think that's why I still can't stand the taste of most leafy green vegetables.”

“Your father should never have left you and Sam alone like that.”

“He was a hunter. He had a job to do. What else could he do? Sam and I were too young to go hunting with him. We were too far away from Bobby's for him to mind us.”

“Still... you were but a child.”

“I was a soldier. I had my orders. Stay put. Look after Sammy.”

“Orders...” Castiel sighed. “Always orders...”

“There were good times too. I'm sure you can say the same. At the very least, you must have had an amusing misadventure or two.”

“I once accidentally set Balthazar's wing on fire. He would not speak to me for eons.”

“I take it that you mean eons literally?”

“Of course. In the geologic sense.”

“Balthazar...” Dean said slowly. “Is he... is he the one who told you that you have pretty eyes?”

“No, Dean.”

“Crowley? Anna? Gabriel? Please don't tell me it was Sam or Bobby... or Meg.”

“No.” Castiel actually chuckled out loud at the distaste in Dean's voice.

“Okay, I give. It's driving me crazy, man. Who was it?”

Castiel's hand stole up to cup Dean's cheek. “It was you,” he said quietly.

“W-what? Me? I never!”

“It was the night you took me to that den of iniquity. You were drunk, Dean. Very drunk and... affectionate. Just before you passed out you looked me straight in the eye and said – ”

“ – I've never seen such a fucking gorgeous shade of blue,” Dean moaned. “Oh, fuck! I actually said that out loud? I thought I'd only dreamed it. Oh, God! That is so not the kind of thing one dude says to another. Oh, God, I – ”

“Dean...”

“What? Oh, hell! I'm sorry. Should I try and take it back?”

“No. I don't mind... now,” Castiel said softly, as he began to glow. His hand crept from Dean's face to his shoulder as they both inched closer to the centre of the bed. And, this time, Dean gripped him back every bit as tightly as he was held.

 

~*~

 

Six weeks passed before they headed back to Bobby's. One hunt led to another, one day flowed into the next and before they knew it the rhythm of the road had drawn them firmly under its old, familiar spell. That they were three now, instead of two, didn't seem to matter. Castiel fit seamlessly into their lives, and if he and Sam had to take it in turns riding up front with Dean, well, it was a small price to pay for the ex-angel's increasingly valuable assistance. Occasionally, Sam woke up in the middle of the night to find Castiel and his brother innocently sharing a single bed, but they were always back in their original positions, tucked up in a solitary cot or sleeping bag, long before the morning light signalled the start of another day. Sam turned a blind eye on the harmless trysts. The dark smudges under Dean's eyes faded. Smiles came more readily to his face and were mirrored in the easy, answering upturn of Castiel's lips.

For the first time in a long time, Dean was happy. Sam was happy. Castiel seemed happy too. Life was good. Damned good.

Sam closed his eyes and drifted into a light doze as they crossed the Minnesota – South Dakota border, the Impala arrowing its way towards Sioux Falls, Castiel's low pitched conversation and Dean's light-hearted laughter a soothing background melody.

 

~*~

 

It was a well known fact that Dean Winchester hated shopping with a passion. He especially hated shopping for clothing and usually was satisfied with whatever selections Sam made for him if it meant he could avoid the special level of hell that was Walmart. But Castiel desperately needed clothes. The seat of his dress pants was almost transparent from constant use and both knees were more patch than original fabric. Sharing T-shirts and flannel shirts wasn't really a problem, though it meant more frequent stops at the laundromat, but no matter how tightly Castiel cinched his belt, Dean's jeans kept sliding down his slender hips. At best he looked like a little kid playing dress-up. At worse, he had tripped and fallen when a trailing cuff got caught under his shoe. Had that happened on a hunt instead of a training session, it could have been disastrous. As it was, Castiel suffered a gash on his leg so deep that without a burst of mojo it would have taken weeks to heal. Which reminded Dean, Cas needed work boots. Something with a better tread than slippery dress shoes. And probably sneakers too. And a heavy jacket since winter was just around the corner. And a duffle to hold all his stuff. And... Dean sighed and added the items to the growing list in his head. At this rate, they'd never escape the foul depths of Walmart. They were doomed to wander its aisles forever.

Castiel, on the other hand, was like a kid in a candy store. He was fascinated by anything and everything and turned to Sam for answers when Dean's patience finally snapped as the ex-angel lingered over a display of Barbie dolls.

“It's so pink, Dean. It's all so pink. And look at the wide range of tiny accessories. I've never seen shoes that small. Why does she only wear high heels, Dean? Is that not impractical for daily use?”

Dean left Sam to explain how the shape of Barbie's foot dictated her shoe choice, hastening on to the safety of the men's clothing department before Castiel could inquire about a brightly coloured exhibition of panties and bras and question the anatomical inaccuracies of the manikins modelling the flimsy material. Apparently that was a wise decision on Dean's part, if the constipated look on Sam's face was any indication when he and Castiel finally rejoined him. Dean cast a smirk Sam's way as he continued shopping and Castiel diligently threw himself into browsing through a shirt display, exclaiming over the variety of patterns and debating the merits of plaids or stripes versus solid colours. He seemed especially intrigued by greens of various hues, while Dean focused exclusively on blues. In fact, Dean was on a hunt for the perfect shade of blue, moving from one rack to the next, flicking through shirts and declaring the colours to be too dark, too light, too grey...

The third time Castiel appeared with a green shirt in hand, Dean shooed him off to go look at jeans while he continued his search in peace.

“You do know what you're doing, don't you, Dean?” Sam said, after a further ten minutes or so of intent and amused observation had passed. “What you've both been doing? ”

“I'm helping Cas pick out a shirt. What do you think we're doing, smart ass?”

“You're each trying to match the colour of the other's eyes,” Sam snickered.

“Sometimes I really hate you, Samantha,” Dean muttered, grabbing up several blue shirts at random and motioning for Castiel to accompany him as he stomped off towards a vacant changing room.

“Oh yeah,” Sam hollered at his brother's retreating back. “I know you do. Sometimes I hate you too. But you didn't deny the accusation, now did you, Dean?”

Castiel added a jade-coloured T-shirt and several pairs of jeans to the pile Dean thrust into his arms and vanished into the cubicle as Dean settled down in a chair to wait, cleverly putting the time to good use by plotting various forms of dire revenge on Sam.

 

~*~

 

As well as being frustratingly tedious work, shopping also always made Dean extremely hungry. His stomach rumbled loudly as they stashed their purchases in the Impala's trunk, and Sam rolled his eyes at his brother's predictability while Castiel looked vaguely concerned about the weird noises emanating from Dean's belly.

Fortunately, there was a decent looking diner just the other side of the parking lot, so Dean didn't have to subject himself to Sam making gagging noises as he consumed a Big Mac. Castiel looked a bit dismayed at missing out on the opportunity to sample something so promisingly called a Happy Meal, but his spirits quickly rallied when he slid into the chair next to Dean and he saw the variety of milkshake flavours listed on a somewhat sticky, laminated menu.

Several minutes later, Sam was grazing on a salad and Dean was lifting the edge of Castiel's sandwich to claim the dill pickle nestled atop layers of thinly sliced roast beef.

“You know you can ask them to hold the pickle if you don't like it?” Sam said helpfully.

“Why would I ask them to hold a pickle?” Castiel inquired. “Do they not have better things to do with their time? It would speed up service considerably if both hands were free to--”

“Never mind, Cas,” Sam interrupted. “Your loss is Dean's gain.”

Dean inserted the pickle in his burger and took an over-sized bite. Castiel slid his plate until it bumped against Dean's and nudged a small share of fries and onion rings over to rest by his sandwich. Dean picked up a bottle and placed a neat dollop of ketchup next to Castiel's fries before generously applying a thick layer of sauce all over the remaining fries on his own plate. Castiel moved his plate back in place and daintily dipped the tip of a fry in the ketchup before popping it into his mouth. As he picked up his sandwich, he spotted a second pickle peeping out from under the meat and pinched it between his fingers to remove it. Dean held open his burger and Castiel dropped the pickle inside. In unison, then, the two men took bites of their respective meals and chewed contentedly.

“Cute act,” Sam murmured. “What do you do for an encore?”

“Huh?” Dean grunted. “What the hell are you on about, Sammy?”

Castiel merely looked confused.

“Pie?” Dean said brightly, when it appeared Sam had nothing further to say at the moment. “Cherry, apple, rhubarb, coconut cream,” he read from the dessert menu.

“Chocolate?” Cas inquired hopefully.

“Sorry, no.” Dean shook his head regretfully. “But we can probably get a scoop or two of chocolate ice cream if you'd like. Vanilla would be better with the pie... but, hey, live it up, Cas.”

Popping the last bite of burger into his mouth, Dean waved down a passing waitress. “I'll have the apple à la mode,” he said. “He'll have the cherry with a side of chocolate ice cream. Sammy?”

“Just coffee, thanks.”

“Milk for me,” Dean declared. “Cas? You still good with that milkshake?””

Castiel nodded and the waitress cast him a bright smile before scurrying off to fill their order.

“ 'My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard, and they're like, it's better than yours. Damn right it's better than yours,' ” Sam sang in a slightly off-key falsetto.

“Can it, Sam,” Dean growled.

“ 'I know you want it,' ” Sam responded, hazel eyes alight with mischief.

“Sam...”

“ 'La, la, la, la, la. The boys are waiting.' ”

“ _Sam!_ ”

Fortunately, the waitress returned just then with their order, literally seconds before Dean could launch himself across the table at a sniggering Sam. And, for a few blissful moments, Dean's world narrowed down to pie. Just pie. No shopping. No monsters. No annoying little brother. Just simple, delicious pie.

Dean managed to polished off his serving while Castiel was only a few bites into his dessert. Without hesitation, Castiel pushed his plate over to Dean and turned his full attention to his milkshake.

Dean hummed his appreciation, picked up Castiel's fork and began to shovel in the cherry pie. Every now and then, Castiel used Dean's abandoned fork to snag a bit of ice cream.

Sam lifted an eyebrow, sipped his coffee and let the silence ride. By the time Dean's second serving of pie had vanished, however, silence was a thing of the past: Castiel was making obscene slurping noises with a straw as he neared the end of his shake, clearly relishing every drop of the sweet drink. From the next table over, a little boy looked at him admiringly, a happy smile lighting his face as he vigorously began to imitate the noisy process. The boy's mother shot Castiel a glare. Dean scowled back at her, grabbed his own drink and began to slurp even more loudly than the oblivious boy and ex-angel. Soon after that, the mother collected her son and left in an obvious huff.

Sam buried his face in his hands: “I can't take you two anywhere.”

“What?” Castiel said. “ _What?_ Dean, are you laughing at me?”

 

~*~

 

Because they were still missing a few items which Bobby had requested and Walmart could not supply, they detoured to the mall on their way back to the car, their progress impeded by Castiel's frequent stops to observe the sights and people around them. One noisy spot in particular proved to be exceptionally fascinating to him.

“What is that little booth,” he wondered aloud. “And why do people keep piling into it to giggle?”

“Oh, God,” Sam sighed. “I haven't seen the inside of one of those things since I was a kid. Do you remember the fun we used to have, Dean? Got so Dad had to carry extra change every time we hit a mall.”

“Yeah,” Dean grinned fondly and mock punched his brother in the arm. “Not sure you'd fit in there now, Gigantor.”

“But what is its purpose?” Castiel persisted, moving closer to peer at a sign on the side of the booth. “Four poses... three minutes... Photographs?” he mused. “If you do not own a camera, this is where you come to have your image recorded?”

“You could say that,” Sam laughed.

“I do not own a camera.”

“Would you like to have your picture taken, Cas?” Dean asked gently.

Castiel nodded, a little shy about admitting to this frivolous desire, but equally determined. “Humans accumulate keepsakes of their good times with friends and family. I would like to have such a memento of this day spent with you and Sam.”

“In you go, then,” Dean gestured, and when Castiel complied, Dean squeezed into the booth beside him. Sam plunked coins into the slot and stuck his head in through the curtained door.

_Snap... snap... snap... snap..._

Blinking from the brightness of the flash, the three men tumbled out to impatiently wait for their photos to develop.

In each and every picture, Castiel had the same neutral expression on his face. In contrast, Sam and Dean's eyes were crossed in the first frame, Sam gave Dean bunny ears in the second. They stuck their tongues out at each other in the third, and Sam thumbed his nose at Dean in the fourth. Both brothers had big, silly grins on their faces the whole time.

Castiel studied the photo strip with a tilted head and a puzzled expression on his face. “This is... not what I expected,” he murmured finally.

“That's what you do in a photo booth, Cas,” Sam laughed. “You goof around. It's not meant to be serious, like a normal photo. It's meant to be fun – and funny.”

“I see...” Castiel said slowly.

“Would you like to try it again?” Dean offered.

“Yes. Please. I think I understand now.”

“Okay!” Dean crawled back into the booth and patted the seat beside him. “Show us what you've got, Cas.”

Again, Sam inserted coins and poked his head into the booth. “On the count of three,” he warned. “One! Two!” He stuck his thumbs in his ears and wiggled his fingers. “Three!”

Castiel grabbed Dean and planted a very wet, very enthusiastic kiss full on his lips.

_Snap... snap... snap... snap..._

“Aww,” Sam said disappointedly, as they gathered around to look at the results. “You didn't make a funny face, Cas.”

“No,” Castiel said, somewhat smugly. “But Dean did.”

 

~*~

 

Dean dreamed about the pictures that night. Little wonder. He had been obsessed with them ever since they had been taken. In fact, he had stolen the strip from the kitchen table where a still laughing Sam had given it place of honour. Had stealthily slipped it into his pocket as he said his goodnights and retired to the upstairs bedroom he claimed whenever they stopped over at Bobby's. Had lain in bed for the better part of an hour, staring at Castiel's pretty mouth and eyes... the surprise on his own face as Castiel kissed him... the slight smile that curved Castiel's lips as he pulled away...

And when he finally turned off the light and slipped into a restless slumber, over and over, he felt Castiel's warm hands frame his face, lightly caressing his cheeks. Saw the tip of Castiel's tongue dart out to moisten pouting lips before they touched upon his own. Tasted strawberry milkshake. Smelled the fresh scent of soap and shampoo and something that was uniquely Cas.

He shivered, though the night was unseasonably warm, and his blanket had long since been kicked to the foot of the bed. When the dream ended, and his eyes opened, still Castiel's face lingered in his mind's eye.

_Cas kissed me..._

Dean touched his lips with a fingertip, and smiled.

 

~*~

 

Castiel was also dreaming. At least, he had been. A very nice dream it was too, vividly reliving the touch of Dean's lips. In the dream, though, the kiss had lasted much longer than two hasty snaps of a camera. And Dean's mouth, rather than being taut with surprise, opened to him instead: warm and wet, practiced and knowing. Dream Dean's arms wrapped around him, drawing him closer to his breast until they shared a single heartbeat, and Castiel stifled a little moan, the broken sound caught deep in his throat as his dream self began to respond in earnest...

He was awake now, blindly staring into the darkness. His heart was racing and his skin was tingling with an unfamiliar, exceedingly pleasant sensation.

“I kissed Dean,” he whispered, shifting restlessly upon his makeshift bed. The couch was old and musty and lumpy and about four inches too short, so his feet stuck out over the edge, but in that moment he didn't feel any discomfort at all. He was floating on a wave of euphoria and yearning.

“I kissed Dean,” he repeated wonderingly.

_And I want to do it again._


End file.
